


The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

by Lady_Hermeline



Series: Behind the Doors of 221B [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Date, Kids, M/M, Parentlock, and Sherlock would never let his daughter date someone who was Unworthy, yes of course they name their kid Hamish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Hermeline/pseuds/Lady_Hermeline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timothy was prepared to deal with a protective father--well, two in this case--because that's pretty much a given on a first date. But he certainly hadn't counted on a Holmes and his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

Timothy Washe took a deep breath, straightened his shirt, ran his hand over his head, and reached up to knock on the plain black door embossed with the numbers 221. Before his hand could make contact with the wood, however, the door swung open, and he paused, hand in the air. Standing in the doorway were two people, one sorter than the other, but both with equally curly dark hair, pale skin, and long black coats, and both wearing identical stonewall expressions. Timothy just had time to think _her family… oh, me…_ before the two of them crossed their arms and the older one opened his mouth. 

“Mediocre student, spends the day drawing instead of studying,” he said.

“Played football when he was younger,” the shorter one replied.

“No current committed sport.”

“But he follows a team… Arsenal?”

“No, Chelsea. Lives with his mother and grandfather.”

“—and two cats.”

“Three.”

“Can’t make a decent cup of tea.”

“But takes it with milk.”

“No, that’s his coffee. Takes his tea black, but with the occasional sugar.”

“…Very good, Hamish.”

“Thanks, Pére.”

“Sets his watch five minutes early because he’s chronically late.”

“But he was on time…”

“Barely—fresh spatters of mud on the wheel rim.”

Timothy stood there, gaping, hand still in the air, as the two fell silent, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Just as he was thinking of saying something, the two looked at each other, then back at Timothy. The taller one put his hand of the door. “Goodnight.” _Slam._

Timothy blinked. The whole thing had taken about thirty seconds, and his brain hadn't quite caught up yet. Suddenly the door opened again, this time to a blond man, going grey on the edges, wearing a tan jumper and looking aggrieved. “Timothy, right?”

“Uh…”

The man looked behind him, up the stairs. Over his shoulder, Timothy caught a glimpse of wavy blond hair. “Sorry about Sherlock and Hamish. Amelia, you two have a good time tonight, okay?”

 Amelia came out from behind the door. “Okay, Dad." She smiled shyly at Timothy and started down the stairs. He heard the door close and sound of someone yelling “Sherlock, you ass!” and stomping up the staircase.

He opened the door for Amelia, and she paused half in and half out of the car. “ _Can_ you make tea?”

Timothy turned bright red.


End file.
